


the girls with heads inside a dream

by parnase



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, F/F, Fashion & Couture, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9219317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parnase/pseuds/parnase
Summary: “Bullshit. It looks the same,” Éponine grits out. “If this is some ridiculous attempt to preserve my modesty-”“It is,” Cosette interrupts. She doesn’t look apologetic at all. “You’re not comfortable showing too much of your body, Éponine. I try my best to accommodate to that.”Éponine glares at her. “Don’t pity me, Cosette. I’m a model, I’m used to showing offeverything.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Tristan  
> Posted on my [tumblr](http://montparn-asses.tumblr.com/post/155462778964/for-sex-ualfrustration-because-hes-a-sucker-for)  
> I have never even watched America's Top Model or shit like that so idk how accurate this is  
> Fic title from Lorde's Buzzcut Season

Éponine loiters at the door, dressed in sweatpants and an oversized cardigan. She’s tired, she’s stressed, she’s pissed off, and not ready to face Cosette.

But the door opens and a perfectly manicured hand shoots out to pull her in. “Ép!” Musichetta cries, putting her arms around her. “I was so happy when Cosette picked you! I haven’t seen you in so long. Since New York, I think.”

In spite of herself, Éponine smiles and embraces her friend. “It’s nice to see you, ‘Chetta. You’re doing my nails, then?”

Musichetta pulls back and grabs her hand to figure out what she’s working with. “Grantaire’s doing your make-up. Jeez, when was the last time you had a show? Have you been  _ biting _ ?”

Éponine snatches her hand back. “A few months,” she admits, scowling at her hand.

Musichetta smiles and draws Éponine further into the room with an arm around her shoulders. “You’re lucky I like a challenge. I’ll do your nails while Baz does your hair, we’re a bit behind schedule.”

Éponine’s stomach drops when she sees Cosette standing at the chair Musichetta is leading her to. She knew better than to hope that one of Cosette’s assistants would deal with her; she’s always been a priority. 

She resists the urge to bite her nails when Cosette sees her and gives her a surprised smile.

“Éponine,” she greets warmly. She doesn’t go in for a hug, but she does hold her hand out for Éponine to shake. “It’s good to see you.”

Éponine doesn’t return the smile, but she shivers when their hands touch and those long fingers easily wrap around hers.

Once she’s seated, Cosette holds out a folder and she scans it. Luckily, she won’t need any major changes regarding hair, but she regards the modesty in the outfit with irritation. Cosette treats her like glass most days, as though Éponine would sooner break than live outside of her comfort zone. To anyone else this would be endearing, Cosette’s concern for her boundaries, but to Éponine it reeks of pity that she never asked for.

Besides, there’s no room for modesty in the modelling business.

“Is this it?” she asks, rather roughly.

Cosette looks unfazed. “Do you not like it?”

She shrugs, handing her back the folder. “It’s not like what I think matters.”

That causes a small frown to bloom on Cosette’s face, but then there’s a wide smile and blue eyes meeting Éponine’s eyes in the mirror and she turns to see Grantaire.

He hands her a flask, ignoring Cosette’s disapproving shake of the head, and once Éponine’s taken a small sip he takes her face in his hands.

“Ép, you’ve gotten uglier. This is a lot to work with. I might need a pay raise.” He raises his eyebrows at Cosette, who rolls her eyes. “Worth a shot.”

Éponine grins at him. He’s one of her oldest friends, and one of the only people that she trusts with her make-up. Most people creep her out if they get too close to her face (she may have elbowed one too many makeup artists).

He takes the folder from Cosette and studies it briefly. “This is doable,” he says, squinting at it.

Once everything is done, and Éponine looks less human and more like perfection in the mirror, Cosette comes back from monitoring her other models. 

Cosette was infamous for only picking models of colour for her fashion lines. It encouraged a lot of bad reviews, but as a model of colour herself, Éponine knows that it’s rare and valuable to come across someone like Cosette.

“I’ll help you into the dress,” Cosette chirps, grinning sweetly at Éponine. She’s holding it carefully from the coat hanger, and Éponine gives it a once-over.

“It’s pretty,” she admits grudgingly. She still thinks it’s annoyingly modest, though.

Cosette’s smile widens as though Éponine had just given her flowers or something, her cheeks pinking up adorably. “That’s why I chose you to wear it.”

Éponine stares at her for a moment before standing up. “Right. Yeah, um, I’ll just…” She takes her cardigan off, careful to make sure her make-up and hair weren’t terribly misplaced by it. When she goes to take her sweatpants off, Cosette averts her eyes. Whether it was out of decency or embarrassment, Éponine didn’t care to know.

“How are you getting home?” Cosette asks as she and Éponine carefully pulled the dress on.

“I’ll have to fly.” It’s accompanied by a grimace; flights from Miami to Paris are expensive. “Please tell me I’m getting paid.”

Cosette tugs the hem of the dress down with a frown. “You  _ were _ going to get paid in trade, but I can talk to someone.” After another gentle tug, she straightens and looks around. “Marius!” she calls out.

Éponine represses a sigh when she sees the long-limbed man awkwardly weave through the crowd of models and staff to get to them, a pleased smile on his face.

“Y-yeah?” he stutters, almost tripping on Éponine’s chair. “Is there a problem?”

“You sewed this together, right? You’ve sewed the hem too short.”

Éponine glances down at where the hem ends. It  _ is _ rather short, and it  _ does _ make Éponine rather uncomfortable, but she pushes it away before it shows.

“It’s fine, Cosette,” she insists. “I’ve exposed more skin on the catwalk than this.” She doesn’t mention how, despite showing off a lot more of her skin than the outfit on a regular basis for shows and photoshoots, it still makes her feel exposed and naked, as though all the cameras pointed at her had a creep behind them seeing legs and not  _ her _ . But she doesn’t work for her dad’s agency anymore, so she doesn’t need to feel this way.

Cosette gives her a once-over. “No, I wanted it longer.” She turns back to Marius, who is red-faced and gaping. “We’ve got less than an hour, Pontmercy. What can we do?”

Marius takes in a deep breath. “The fabric is rather delicate, I don’t think I can-” He reaches down at the hem and Éponine flinches. Cosette grabs his wrist.

“I can’t do anything in time,” Marius finishes apologetically.

Cosette closes her eyes and sighs, as though she were gathering strength. Éponine resists the urge to pull the hem down, and Marius backs away a few steps.

“I’ve got another dress,” she says. Marius looked surprised, so he must not have tailored it. “Grab it for me, will you? It’s in my office.”

Marius bumbles away quickly, eager to make up for his mistake.

Éponine turns to Cosette. “What’s the big deal?” she snaps. “A few inches isn’t going to make much difference. The dress looks the same.”

“My design was for a specific-”

“ _ Bullshit _ . It looks the same,” Éponine grits out. “If this is some ridiculous attempt to preserve my  _ modesty _ -”

“It is,” Cosette interrupts. She doesn’t look apologetic at all. “You’re not comfortable showing too much of your body, Éponine. I try my best to accommodate to that.”

Éponine glares at her. “Don’t  _ pity _ me, Cosette. I’m a model, I’m used to showing off  _ everything _ .”

Cosette’s eyes are sad, and they shine as though she’s struggling to hold back tears. Éponine steps back.

“I know. God, I  _ know _ , Ép.” She tries for a smile but it looks uncertain on such a miserable expression. “When I first met you, I knew your face.”

Éponine studies her for a moment. “What are you trying to say?”

Cosette sits down in the vacated chair next to her. “I… I worked for your father’s agency. I had nowhere else to go and - “ She stares down at her hands like it hurt less to look at them instead of Éponine. “I just sewed clothes. Sometimes I looked in on photo shoots. I was so  _ happy _ when you got out of there.”

Éponine is silent, watching Cosette. She feels bare and unmasked in front of Cosette. Her body is caught between flight or fight. She can spit out harsh words of denial or anger, but it won’t build her back up. Here she is, in front of Cosette, and this girl  _ knows _ her.

When Cosette looks up, she’s nervous and a bit frightened.

“I know your face,”  Éponine says. There’s nothing but wonder in her voice, because Cosette  _ is _ that small girl her mother used to boss around in the workshop. She’s the girl that Éponine would see peering into the room, her eyes more gentle than the men in the room and behind the cameras.

Marius trips into their moment with a worried expression on his face, holding up a new dress.

“This is it, right?” he asks, biting his lip. 

Cosette stands up, takes it gently from him, and holds it up to Éponine’s body. She nods and waves a hand dismissively. Éponine is watching Cosette; she doesn’t notice him leave.

Cosette’s fingers undress Éponine carefully. Every time she touches her skin her fingers jerk back like that had been burned. Éponine watches her silently.

When she puts the dress on, each pull of the fabric and each time she smooths it out it’s careful and reverent, as though the dress - or the model - is worthy of her most gentle touch.

Éponine is still watching her, but once she stands back to look at her, she turns to the mirror.

The dress is beautiful. It’s light and flows down in delicate folds that sculpt a figure without pulling at it. There is quite a bit of exposure around the neckline, but the light blue makes her skin shine. It suits her make-up as much as the last one, and the colour matches her shoes perfectly.

When Éponine meets Cosette’s eyes in the mirror, she turns around and opens her mouth to say something-

-before Feuilly steps in front of her, staring down at his clipboard. “You’re on in a few, ‘Ponine. Do you want me to call Grantaire and Baz for final touches?”

Éponine nods, and when he walks away, Cosette is gone.

 

Éponine takes a deep breath before stepping onto the catwalk. She finds reassurance in the red of Jehan’s head at the end of the catwalk, holding a camera and grinning at her, but she keeps her face blank. It’s easier than ever to keep her mind empty; she doesn’t know what to do with all her thoughts anyway.

There’s a small wobble that she attempts to compensate for. But the heel doesn’t behave; she can almost hear the snap, and then her ankle is rolling, her body flailing, and she just barely manages to keep herself on the catwalk.

There’s a hand on her elbow and another at her arm. She tries to jerk away while she hears cameras snapping and the crowd chattering in the scandal.

She’s dragged up and the touch on her skin makes her want to get  _ away _ until she realises it’s Feuilly holding her up. Her ankle throbs in pain but it’s not broken, she knows that much.

“Are you okay?” he asks, turning her around so she looks into his eyes instead of the crowd around them.

She nods gratefully. “Just a sprained ankle.” She tries to test her weight on it and bites down on a cry of pain.

Feuilly does what any considerate person would do; he lifts her up and carries her off the catwalk. She meets the eyes of the next model, Louison, who gives her a grin when she sees she’s alright before stepping out.

The moment she’s backstage, Éponine is surrounded by Grantaire, Cosette, Bahorel, and Joly. Musichetta is already flying across the room in a panic.

Éponine is laid out on a sofa that everyone refuses to touch since Grantaire and Enjolras were halfway to naked and making out on it, and she grimaces in disgust.

“Are you okay?” Cosette asks, looking down at her ankle in horror.

“Sorry,” Éponine replies. “About the shoes.”

“What? I don’t care about the shoes, Éponine!” 

Joly nudges Cosette to the side while he examines her foot. After a while he confirms what Éponine already knows. “It’s an inversion sprain, and a pretty mild one at that. R, can you get some ice and a towel?” He lifts her leg up, muttering a quick ‘sorry’ when she winces, and Musichetta tucks a pillow under it.

“Those shoes are worth a shitload, Cosette,” Éponine reminds her. “You should be pissed.”

Cosette bites her lip and grabs Éponine’s hands. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she says earnestly. “You could have broken your ankle or  _ worse-” _

“But I didn’t,” Éponine reassures her. “I just have to rest it for a few hours.”

“Days,” Joly interrupts. “And no heels for a couple of weeks at least. Unless you want to screw it up more.”

Éponine lets out a rough sigh. “I have to be in Paris in a few days. I have a photoshoot with Patron Minette.”

“Not anymore,” Joly says cheerfully, patting her uninjured ankle. Grantaire appears from behind Éponine and thrusts the ice pack and towel in Joly’s face. He lies it gingerly on her ankle and her sharp inhale was equal parts from the cold and the pain. She focuses on the cold. She’s an expert at pushing away pain.

Cosette is still there, in front of her face, holding her hands with concern painted on her face. Éponine  knows she should pull away but her hands are warm and soft and gentle, her long fingers rubbing up and down Éponine’s.

Musichetta grabs Joly by the shirt and taps Bahorel on the chest. “We have work to do,” she says empathetically.

Éponine watches them all go but she can see that Cosette doesn’t look away from her face.

“I can pay-”

“I don’t care about the damn shoes, Éponine,” Cosette growls, and it makes Éponine’s heart pick up a faster beat because that had to be the closest thing to a swear word to pass through those delicate lips.

She swallows and looks down at their hands. “Then.. why do you care about… I mean, you’ve got a show to run and you can’t just stay  _ here _ \- “ She cuts herself off when she sees Cosette’s expression change from thoughtful to determined. Éponine has seen that look of longing on people’s faces before, but on Cosette it sparks an answering longing in  _ her _ .

So when Cosette leans towards her, Éponine meets her halfway. It’s the most natural thing when their lips connect. Éponine can feel the slide of her lipstick against Cosette’s dry lips, but she ignores it and  presses for more.

When Cosette opens her mouth and the kiss deepens, Éponine tastes the sweetness of her minty breath and makes a small noise, almost a moan, that causes Cosette to smile and break the kiss. Éponine’s teeth catch on her bottom lip before they pull apart, and she opens her eyes to see Cosette’s wide smile stained with dark red lipstick.

“Whoa,” she breathes.

Éponine struggles to keep a straight face for a moment longer before breaking into a smile. “We have to do more of that.” She tries to sit up without moving her ankle and winces. Cosette bites her lip in concern.

“We can, since you’ll be staying at my place until you heal.”

“Cosette - you can’t just… No, I’ll stay with R or something,” Éponine protests.

Cosette’s face falls slightly. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then that’s fine.”

Éponine grabs her hand. “I want to. But-”

Cosette smiles brightly. “Great. I’ll arrange everything. What shampoo do you use?”

Éponine spies Grantaire lurking in the corner and looks at him. He steps forward and grabs Cosette’s attention. “One of the girl's’ skirt is torn, and Marius is off sulking. For some reason he thought you were straight?” He smirks at them both and gives Éponine a wink.

Cosette sighs and stands up. “Don’t go anywhere,” she orders.

Éponine spreads her hands out, gesturing at her leg. “Where would I go?”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are great, comments are beautiful, and you should check out my [tumblr.](http://montparn-asses.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
